


Scars, interplanetary and not

by halphobic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adult Trolls (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Apocalypse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24201904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halphobic/pseuds/halphobic
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, and you don’t think you can remember a time you didn’t live in the compounds.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Scars, interplanetary and not

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy folks! This is one of my first big fics, most likely aiming this to be 50k-100k. I’ve written a bunch of other stuff but I’ve never published any of it, so I’m kinda nervous ngl.
> 
> I have so much world building ready for this, I hope y’all enjoy it!
> 
> This is very loosely based on art made by official spec!

Space. You’ve loved space as long as you can remember. Some of your earliest memories are looking out your apartment window, craning your neck as far as you could to catch a glimpse of the brightest stars. You imagined they were tiny, like you would be able to hold them in the palm of your hand, feel their fiery warmth against your skin.  
It was always your escape from the life you were living.  
Barely any were ever visible smack dab in the middle of Houston, but you could always get a good look at the moon. You wondered if anyone lived on it, and you would spend hours practicing what you would say if they ever came down to meet you. 

They did come down to meet you (broadly speaking), they just weren’t from the moon, nor were they friendly like you always planned.  
None of the hours of speaking to yourself in the mirror with your pre-pubescent voice would prepare you for what ‘aliens’ really turned out to be. 

You remember the day the first of them came. You were too young to understand what was happening, why your brother took you from the comfort of your home to a concrete maze of rooms and bright fluorescent lights.  
The place you lived was home to dozens of other people. As the years went on that number got smaller and smaller. You found out why after a group of foragers left, coming back with half the people they had before.  
Your brother told you, in that nonchalant way of his, that there are creatures outside the walls that protect you, and that those things would tear you apart if they got even a glimpse at you.  
Only the lucky ones got away from those monsters.

Your brother was never very lucky. 

-

“Don’t go far, okay Dave? Just grab the cans, set up camp, and stay low,” Rose instructs you for the third time that day. You’re sitting with her in the west wing exit, preparing to leave the compound.  
You’ve been assigned, for the first time ever, to head out into the outer city to gather supplies.  
Being part of the foraging groups is something you never got the privilege of doing, you’ve always been too young. They don’t want to kill off the younger generation before you’ve had a chance to carry on your species (not something you’ve ever done or intend to do, regardless). 

The usual trips for foragers last a couple hours, and they usually go with a large group of people. It’s safer that way, more people equals more muscle to take down threats.  
There’s a tradition in your compound, though, that the first trip out is taken alone and lasts several days; a coming of age for your shitty society. A very dangerous camping trip.  
Despite the obvious flaws in the idea, many young adults in your compound are extremely excited for their first ‘outing’. 

“I got it down, Lalonde. Right in my think tank.” You tap the side of your head for emphasis. Your gesture disrupts the bags and scabbard clinging to your back.  
It’s almost overkill, the amount of stuff that Rose is making you carry, but you know she’s just worried about your well being (and for good reason). She gave you enough supplies for the week you’re going to be gone and weeks more. 

Rose draws her attention to the largest bag you're carrying. Rustling through it, she double checks you have everything you need. Food, bedding, all that jazz.  
“There haven’t been any sightings of trolls in that area lately, you should be alright. If you do see anything, I expect you won’t attempt to engage. It’s not worth the risk.”  
You fight the urge to groan. 

Pulling away from your cousin’s nagging, you turn to face her with your trademark Strider grin. Even your antics can charm her at times, if you play it right. Trying to distract from the seriousness of a situation is one of the things you are best at.  
“You know I have more self control than that.” 

Rose raises her right eyebrow. “Do you?” She hesitates.  
“Actually, don’t answer that.”  
That gets a chuckle out of you. God you love her sometimes. 

No amount of distraction from the inevitability of leaving is helping the nervous energy in your gut, though. Anxiety is rising in your stomach like bile, despite your kidding around. You have to rip this off like a bandaid then, there's not going to be a good moment. You’ve just gotta leave.

Exchanging some (hopefully not) final words, you give her a hug. You know you’re gonna see her again in the next few days, but you still want to make sure she knows how much you're gonna miss her.  
She opens the metal latched door for you, and it’s a shock. The warm Texas wind billows in,  
a stark difference from the normally cold compound air. You welcome it.  
You can tell the heat surprised her too; her eyebrows raise, a slight change in her demeanor. Even she can be shaken (if a little bit) by small things like that.  
In this small moment before you step out, you realize that you haven’t seen the outside world in ages. That scares you more than any alien hell-bent on murdering you ever could.  
All the anxiety you’ve been putting off comes rushing in.  
You wonder what it could possibly look like, after years of war.  
It’s probably not the Houston you remember.  
Giving Rose a quick wave, you slip out of the door, and out of the home that’s spent years protecting you. 

The door slams behind you, and it feels like a finality. 

The warmth from the sun immediately wraps around you like a blanket, staving off the inherent fear of being outside. You squint your eyes against the natural light, so different from the artificial brightness of your compound. For the first time in who knows how long, you feel the crunch of dirt under your feet. It’s strange.  
Looking out over the landscape, you let out a small breath of relief. It’s not as ruined as you worried. You were concerned it would be like a desert, nothing for miles. Like in one of those movies that your friend likes so much.  
Luckily, almost every building you can see from here is standing. There are some outliers, mostly smaller ones, crumbling to disrepair, but this is at least manageable.  
Your biggest concern was that there would be no shelter, and no non perishable food to find. 

You still have your back to the door. You’re almost afraid to move from it, knowing that anything could be behind you. A major blindspot is not something you want to have in a life or death situation (which is what this is, isn’t it?).  
Something in you wants to bang on the entrance; you know Rose would let you back in, but… you’ve gotta do this. You have to see what's left of the world. 

Distantly, you wonder if you’re the only human out here. Maybe your settlement is the only one that survived. It’s a terrible thought, and it fills you with a hollow emptiness you haven’t felt in years, replacing the simmering anxiety.  
You shake yourself out of those thoughts and begin to wander towards the city on steady feet. The compound is just out of the city limits, but close enough that it won’t take you long to get there. An hour at most.  
You fish through your jeans pocket, looking for your earbuds, but think better of it. You’re going to need all of your senses, and not being able to hear things sneak up on you? A deadly mistake. 

There are small plants growing up in the dirt and dust, remnants of grass. Barely any greenery is out here, you note as you take a couple glances around.  
Is that a by-product of the trolls, or has it always been like this? You aren’t sure you can even remember.  
Huh, now that you think of it… you aren’t sure you can remember much of anything about living before the compound. It feels like you’ve been there your whole life.  
Certain small things jump out of course, small foggy memories, but for the most part you draw up blanks. Your heart squeezes at that.  
Maybe being out here isn’t such a bad idea. It’s lending you realizations you don’t think you would have otherwise.  
You’ll have to talk to your cousin about that later. When you get back home. 

The distance between your compound and the city is much farther than you thought. The sun is a quarter way to the horizon when you finally hit some semblance of road. It’s gravel, and with every step you take it crunches beneath your feet. Belatedly you wonder if it’s loud enough for anyone to notice.  
You don’t think so, but just in case you keep your steps light. 

Casting your gaze behind you, you catch sight of your compound in the distance. It looks like a bunch of concrete blocks half underground when you look at it from outside. You’ve never really thought about it.  
Something akin to anger bubbles up in you when you think about the fact you had to be raised there. If those things hadn’t come… you shake yourself out of it. Being mad isn’t gonna change what aliens did.

Time starts blending together.  
By the time you get to the closest building, your legs are already sore. You’re not used to walking this far.  
Sun beams may be less extreme in the late afternoon, but your back still aches regardless. The warmth that felt welcoming and homey when you started feels hot and oppressive now, less of a heat and more of a burn. You can’t wait for the shade.  
Luckily, you’ve just found shelter.  
The structure you’ve arrived at is something you’ve only heard of, not ever seen.  
The large sign, proclaiming in large white letters, ‘GAS’, the smaller lettering underneath selling you coffee, the pumps sitting in front of the main building.  
Putting two and two together isn’t hard. A gas station, your brother mentioned one once. 

He used to pick up snacks from them when you were young. You wonder if it’s the same one.

You note after a moment that a proper road is coming up. It’s cracked and pot holed, and as you glance at it you realize you’ve been walking on top of it all day, it’s just nearly completely covered in gravel.  
Dust storms, you assume. 

Your feet hit concrete for the first time that day as you finally step onto the curb (you were too afraid you would be too loud before).  
The tapping of your sneakers against the stone is setting your fear alight. Rose told you that trolls have sensitive hearing; if they’re ever after you, never run from them, just find a place to hide. The sound is echoing off the buildings, making it seem much louder than it is. 

Glancing around, you make sure there's nothing around you that's caught the sound of your steps, ready to kill. So many ways you could be ambushed.  
When you finally reach the front doors of the main building, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.  
One of the glass doors is completely missing. You peer through the vacant entrance, into the unlit interior of the gas station. The light from the door illuminates some of the bare shelves. The black shadows casting through the glass betray the empty drink fridges.  
Foragers must have taken anything of use a long time ago, but it’ll still be a good place to stay for the night.  
Every step inside you make, glass crunches beneath your feet. Someone must have broken that first door, then. You wonder why. 

You grab your flashlight from the bag closest to your arm. Taking another step inside, you click on the light. Shadows stretch along the walls as you make your way inside, reminding you of the monsters that could be outside.  
The counter where an employee would stand is vacant, for obvious reasons. You can see where posters used to sit, sticky marks on the divider glass. There are a couple deep scratch marks set into it. You really don’t want to know what they’re from.  
Peering over the counter, you elect to set up your bedding there.  
If anyone comes in, they won’t be able to see you, you could get a head start on ambushing them. There's even an ‘employees only’ door set into the farthest wall. That could be a good escape route. 

After figuring out how to get behind the counter (which involved jumping straight over it), you take the bags off your back.  
They seem much heavier when you’re pulling them off yourself individually. Have you really been carrying these all day? Adrenaline must have been keeping you going more than you thought.  
You set up the largest bags against the inner counter, opposite to where you’re crouching. Reaching into the closest one, you remove your sleeping bag, a bottle of water, and two granola bars.  
This should be fine for tonight; you have to conserve your supplies. They have to last you a week or so, after all. Maybe Rose was right in sending you with so much.  
You shimmy your scabbard off, and lay it right next to you. In case you need to grab it, being able to get it quickly is optimal.  
You’re kinda second guessing your choice of weapon, but it’s the only thing you know how to wield properly.

You’ve completed at least one thing off your first day checklist: shelter. Having a place to sleep at night is the number one thing you need in a survival situation.  
You found it in perfect time too, the sun is lowering closer to the horizon. If you wanted to, you still have time to explore the surrounding area. For now though, you’re not feeling that brave.  
Resting is your number one priority; your body is still aching from walking so far. Taking a tiny nap won’t matter.  
Lying down on top of your sleeping bag, you close your eyes.

The complete silence of the gas station is so unlike the noise of your compound, you don’t know if you’re going to be able to fall asleep.  
Your bedroom at home is occupied by a couple of your other friends as well. The noises of them breathing and snoring are comforting for you.  
It's only been a couple hours and you already miss them.

Twenty minutes of being alone with your thoughts and you decide you’re not going to be able to rest. If you were home, you would have taken some melatonin. Of course, that’s the one thing Rose didn’t pack.  
Grabbing your earbuds and iPod, you pray the battery is full enough for some white noise. You forgot to charge it before you left, but luckily it's still half full.  
You let the soft sound of music made years before you were born wash over you as you close your eyes.  
If you try hard enough, you can almost imagine you’re at home, lying in bed while your friends sleep not even ten feet away.  
It’s peaceful, and it doesn’t take long for you to drift off.

It’s almost four in the morning when you wake back up. Your neck hurts from laying on such a flat surface. The sleeping bag did nothing to cushion your head.  
You open your eyes blearily while you crack your neck, letting out a small groan. You should have brought more bedding.  
Grabbing one of the smaller canvas bags near your head, you empty out its contents. A bottle of painkillers roll out, as well as a bag of small batteries. Rose really did think of everything.  
You place the bag on top of the head of the sleeping bag and rest your head back on it.  
That's better.  
If it were any colder than Texas in late spring, you might have actually slept inside the thing. You would probably die of heat stroke if you did, though.  
You doze off, but it’s short lived. 

A loud crash wakes you up immediately. For a moment you think it’s a dream, but you crack your eyes open, making eye contact with the ceiling. Real life, then.  
The sound came from behind the counter, close to the farthest wall. It’s followed by a soft, pained hiss, an extremely human sound.  
You sit up, heart pounding.  
There shouldn’t be anyone else out foraging this time of night, and no one else is on their first outing. Your brain is frantic to come up with an explanation.  
Either there’s a compound you don’t know about, or one of those trolls is currently less than twenty feet away from you. Both concepts are distressing, one being slightly worse.  
Your breathing is coming in rapidly. You attempt to slow it down, trying not to draw attention to yourself.  
You’re lucky, you think to yourself, that you chose to sleep behind the counter. If you had slept anywhere else they would have seen you immediately. 

Your eyes drift towards the ‘employees only’ door. You’re tempted to make a run for it, but you’re worried it would make too much noise. You would be caught instantly. 

You’re about to try and make a break for it anyway, when you notice something. The crashing and rustling stopped.  
An oppressive silence settles in the room. For some reason, this is even more nerve-racking than the noise. Your pulse pounding in your ears is deafening. You clench your fist hard, nails nearly breaking skin. This reminds you of a horror movie. You brace yourself, expecting the sounds to double in strength, but they don’t.  
Seemingly, whatever it was, it’s gone now. 

Breathe, you tell yourself. Those grounding techniques Rose taught you would really be helpful about now, if you could just remember them.  
It takes you a while to trust your judgement and calm down. You’ve moved to sitting against the back of the counter. In case whatever it was is still there, you’re at least slightly hidden from view.

It takes a while, but the moment your heart stops beating a million times a second, your curiosity gets the best of you.  
You pull yourself out of the crouching position you’re in. Your knees protest achingly.  
You peer over the edge of the counter as subtly as you possibly can. Hands gripping the linoleum tightly, you hold your breath.

Scanning across the empty shelves, you take note of the newly knocked over ones. You weren’t imagining that, then.  
Someone really was in here.  
Rose did say there haven’t been any sightings of trolls in the area, but you never know. They are known to travel fast. Something about leg length and all that.

It’s dark in the gas station. Your eyes still haven’t completely adjusted to the absence of light.  
Turning on a flashlight is an option, but you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. Whatever that was probably isn’t far.

The sky is pitch black through the windows. You don’t have a watch on you, but based on the complete and utter lack of light you would have to guess it’s somewhere between 12am to 4am. 

Are trolls nocturnal? You try and gather what memories you have of being lectured on them, but you’re coming up blank.  
Rose had to have mentioned something about it at least once, she briefed you on everything your compound knows about them.  
It seems way too early for a human to be awake. Especially one who has probably been traveling. They would need to rest, just like you.  
You really don’t wanna think about it longer than you have to, the idea of being so close to one of those creatures fills you with potent anxiety. 

You slip back down the counter, back to your little sleeping area. That really was a close call. Your emotions are kept at bay for the time being.  
You feel numb, and it’s only been the first night. This can’t be good for your mental health.

You don’t know if you’re gonna be able to get back to sleep. The illusion of safety is gone, and where you really are has finally set in.  
You aren’t in the safety of the compound anymore. Things are out here, dangerously close to you, that want to hurt you. 

It dawns on you after a few moments that you’re gonna have to move your shelter. This isn’t as out of the way as you intended it to be. Someone really could come in at any time. 

Fuck this. 

Grabbing your sleeping bag and other scattered supplies, you shove them hastily into your bags. You can practically hear Rose scolding you for ruining her organization of the satchels. You apologize mentally to your cousin.  
Your legs still ache from yesterday, but you don’t care as you hoist yourself up properly. 

God, these bags are fucking heavy. You’re so tired of them.  
In a split second decision, you decide to empty some of the contents straight onto the ground. A couple things clang against the ground loudly. Shit.  
You really hope that didn’t draw as much attention to you as you think it did. Whatever, you’re getting out of here as quick as you can regardless.  
You glance down at the items on the ground, making sure none of them are anything that’ll be important later. The pill bottle of painkillers is still lying on the ground.  
Grabbing that and shoving it in your jeans pocket, you decide it’s time to blow this pop stand. Or whatever they say. 

Getting over the counter is a struggle this time, because instead of being the middle of the day while you are adrenaline filled, it’s some ungodly hour of the morning while you’re filled with potent paranoia.  
You clamber over it eventually, balancing on one leg for a moment before you land on your feet. The bags rustle together loudly.  
You are just not graceful tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> halphobic on insta
> 
> So! That’s a wrap for the first chapter! 
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated! Makes me wanna work faster ;w;


End file.
